


Growing Up With Dangerous People

by firstfloorgenerator



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (all by klaus), Ben's death, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, Diego's pov, Family Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Underage Drinking, but also siblings drifting apart, diego leaving the academy in the end, five running away, growing up in the umbrella academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27923224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstfloorgenerator/pseuds/firstfloorgenerator
Summary: Growing up in the Academy from Diego's point of view: from choosing names, losing Five, and dealing with the strained, shifting familial relationships, to Ben's death and Diego's final exit.
Relationships: Allison & Ben & Diego & Number Five | The Boy & Klaus & Luther & Vanya, Diego Hargreeves & Grace Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Reginald Hargreeves
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	Growing Up With Dangerous People

**Author's Note:**

> sidenote: I used she/her pronouns for Vanya bc as far as I know (??), while Elliot Page's pronouns are now he/they (❤️), Vanya's pronouns and gender identity in the show haven't changed!

Number Two could not forget the look on that first reporter’s face when she asked them their names, but got a list of numbers in response. After the initial shock and jubilation about the existence of a team of crime-fighting superheroes had settled a bit, the name thing became the subject of many speculation articles and trashy daytime talk shows. Number Three got her hands on an issue of some stupid, gossipy magazine, in which some stupid, gossipy journalist wondered what the ranking meant. For, if they had all been born at the same exact time, what could the numbers mean aside from their levels of power? One the most powerful, and six, the least?

“I can’t believe you’re reading that, it’s pathetic,” Number Five had said, pompously leaving the room with his nose in the air. But Number Two couldn’t tear his eyes away from the page. Number Seven, after all, had no powers at all— a ranking, well, it made sense. But that was infuriating— Number Two could throw anything into the air and control it perfectly. How was that less impressive than… what, being _strong_?

He began to hate his number more and more. One day he confessed this to his mom— she was the only one he ever felt really close to— well, besides Number Six, and sometimes Number Four. But she was the only one he’d tell things to, when he was really upset, so he told her.

It was soon after that she called a family meeting to give them all names.

She had lists for each of them, names that were common in each of the countries that they were from, originally, in the few days before their father had come to collect them. She told them her top choices of each, what they meant, how she thought they fit each of them.

And so he, Number Two, became Diego, because he thought his mother’s eyes shone just a little brighter when she spoke it out loud.

Number One became Luther, “A strong name for a strong boy,” their mother said. Number Three became Allison, Number Four became Klaus, Number Six became Ben. Even Number Seven got a name— Vanya— usually a boy’s name, their mom said, but Vanya didn’t seem to care. She probably just wanted to be different, to be special, in some way. To stand out in any way she could.

Number Five, on the other hand, didn’t like any of the names, or perhaps he just didn’t care. “This is stupid,” he scoffed. “I already know who I am, I don’t need a _name_ to tell me.” And to punctuate his thoughts, he blinked out of the room. So he remained Five.

It was strange how fast the names caught on. He once heard Allison saying her name over and over again to her mirror, introducing herself to no-one, as if she was on an imaginary talk show. Klaus would call Ben’s name from the other side of the house when he was bored. Even Five, who had rolled his eyes at the initial idea, fell into using his siblings' names without hesitation. Reginald never used them, but Diego told himself it didn’t matter. Their names were theirs, and theirs alone. But the more Diego grew to love his name, the more the sound of his number seemed to sting.

Still, in their victories, he would sometimes forget. Sure, the days would be grueling, hours and hours of training, of learning languages and racing up staircases, of throwing knives across the courtyard, getting yelled at if his concentration ever slipped, getting reprimanded whenever he’d stutter. But it was worth it, wasn’t it, for that feeling of absolute euphoria, when they stopped a bank robber? When they saved a hostage? The first time he killed another person, he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, tearing the electrodes from his head in fear and confusion. But the second time, it was a little easier. They were bad guys, after all, that’s what their father said. They were bad guys, and he and his siblings were heroes.

And Diego loved being a hero. So he clung to that.

One evening, after a mission, he heard crying from Klaus’ room. But it wasn’t Klaus, it was Ben, Ben crying about the blood that didn’t seem to want to come off of his skin. For it was Ben who had killed the most out of all of them, when the monster tore from his chest. Diego checked the hallway— no one else seemed to be nearby— and opened the door, just a crack.

“It’s like there’s like— like a darkness inside of me, or something, and I can’t always control it,” Ben was mumbling. “I don’t like my power very much,”.

“Don’t let dad hear you say that,” Klaus laughed. “Trust me.”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked, frowning at him.

“Nothing,” Klaus said. “It’s whatever. Hey— look, if you wanna feel better, look what I got!” He pulled out a little baggie from under his pillow, opened it, and waved it into Ben’s face. Ben grimaced.

“It smells like a freaking skunk,” he exclaimed judgmentally. Klaus laughed.

“It’s _supposed_ to smell like that,” he insisted. “That’s how you know it’s the good stuff.”

Diego pushed the door open. “You idiot,” he said, as Klaus and Ben both jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“Cheese and crackers!” Klaus whisper-shouted, over-dramatically, throwing his free hand across his chest.

“You got… _drugs_?” Diego exclaimed, ignoring him.

“Sure did,” Klaus beamed. “There’s this older kid down the street who said he’d give me _weed_ if I promised to give a message to his dead grandmother.”

“So, did you?” Ben asked. Klaus grinned.

“Well, no because— get this— I can’t do it. It blocks it out or something. And alcohol does, too, isn’t that cool?”

“So how’d you get the… the weed… if you couldn’t actually see her?” Diego demanded.

Klaus shrugged. “I pretended,” he said dully. He pulled paper and a lighter out from under his mattress. “Either of you want in?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Diego said, frowning. “C’mon Ben, Allison’s not in her room, let’s go mess with her teddy bear.”

Ben’s face broke out into a grin. “Okay,” he said, and he got to his feet.

“Suit yourselves, more for me,” Klaus shrugged, suddenly looking a little annoyed, and he turned moodily towards the wall.

Soon after that, the kids turned thirteen. It seemed like the entire world celebrated their birthday, but their father didn’t acknowledge anything special about the day until dinner time, when their mother brought in a gigantic cake as Pogo watched on with apparent affection.

“What _are_ you doing?” Their father demanded.

“It’s the children’s birthday today,” she explained, smile frozen. “So I thought we’d celebrate.”

Their dad frowned. “If today they are indeed another year older, than a cake is much too immature, wouldn’t you agree, Grace?”

Her smile faltered. “I… suppose so!” she said, and left the room. The kids exchanged a glance.

That night, they broke into the downstairs kitchen, and demolished the cake together, with their bare hands.

“I can’t believe we’re teenagers now,” Vanya said quietly. “Do you guys feel older?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “I think so.”

“Age doesn’t matter,” Five said, swallowing a large mouthful of frosting, as he shifted against Vanya’s shoulder. “Not for me, anyways. Not when I can control time.”

“You don’t control time,” Diego scoffed. “All you can do is disappear and reappear, like a freaking ghost.”

“Mmm-mm,” Klaus disagreed, his mouth completely full. “Once ghosts appear they usually hang around, actually, unless you—”

“—I’m gonna start time jumping soon,” Five spoke over him, smirking at Diego. “Dad’s gonna let me, he’s gotta.”

“I don’t know,” Luther said, in an infuriatingly self-important voice. “Didn’t dad say it was too dangerous?”

Vanya bit her lip. “He did?” She asked. “When?”Everyone ignored her.

“Everything we do is dangerous,” Ben pointed out.

“Yeah, but dad makes sure we’re safe,” Luther countered. “He won’t let anything happen to us, that’s why he has rules.”

“Oooo,” Diego said sarcastically. “But you’re breaking the rules right now, aren’t you? Better put the cake down Number One, you might die without daddy’s permission.”

“Don’t be mean,” Allison snapped.

“Was I talking to you?” Diego retorted.

“I heard a rumor—”

“Guys,” Ben interrupted. “Can you stop fighting? It’s our birthday.”

“It could be our birthday every day if I wanted it to be,” Five muttered to himself, but everyone else fell into a silence as they picked at the last remnants of frosting.

That was the last birthday they spent together, as seven.

~

Diego had never been particularly fond of Five. He had always found him pushy, and annoying, and a self-important show off. But still, he couldn’t help but enjoy watching him stand up to Reginald at the dinner table, even if he dared not show it on his face. And when Five ran from the Academy walls, he exchanged an incredulous look with Klaus. Of course, Five would come back later that night, and he’d get the punishment of a lifetime, but it was always kind of rewarding to watch someone defy their father.

The thing was, Five did not come back that night. When they woke up to an empty seat at the breakfast table, Reginald did not say a single word. It wasn’t until three full days had passed that he called them to the living room and announced that Five had been lost to time.

“I hope this is a lesson to all of you,” he said coldly, surveying them with cruel, unforgiving eyes. “To diligently follow your training plan. To stay on the path carved for you. Straying from discipline will cost you everything.”

That very night, the family painter arrived on their doorstep, and within a day a large portrait of Five had been mounted above the fireplace. The act of hanging it was probably the most care their father had shown to any of them in their entire thirteen years there.

The weeks stretched on, and it was weird to no longer have their brother blinking into rooms without a moments notice, cheating on their races to get ahead. They all reacted differently as his absence settled. Luther got even more annoying, turning into a totally kiss-up both during missions and at home, as if trying to prove to their father that he would _never_ run away like Five did, as if that somehow made him better. Anytime Allison made a mistake, it would be forgotten by the next day, any chastising replaced with praise— Diego suspected she was rumoring their father, but as she reminded him, he couldn’t prove it. Klaus started sneaking bottles of alcohol into his room, and as Diego, Luther, and Allison worked harder, he seemed to work less. Ben seemed a bit sad, but he stopped complaining about his powers, and stopped crying in Klaus’ room. But no one seemed to internalize the situation more than freaking Vanya, who was the only one of them who didn’t seem to accept their father’s words.

“Vanya,” Diego snapped one night, finally, when he left Ben’s room to find her setting down a sandwich plate outside Five’s door. “Can you just quit it already? He’s not coming back.”

Vanya’s lip quivered. “But I was just— what if he—”

“This is just pathetic, alright?” Diego continued angrily. “God, just g-g-get—” he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and continued, “Get over it.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” Ben murmured, as they watched her hurry down the stairs. Diego felt a small twinge of guilt, but it wasn’t fair that Vanya was acting like the victim in the situation. She didn’t have to deal with the extra hero training that came from being one Academy member down, she didn’t have to deal with their father’s increasing levels of control. And just because Diego wasn’t leaving sandwiches outside of Five’s door— it didn’t mean he didn’t miss him.

Two years passed.

Sometimes Diego wondered what time Five was trapped in. He was fifteen like them now, in some random year— that is, if he wasn’t dead. Or maybe he was alive, but wasn’t trapped. Maybe he just didn’t want to come back, it’s not like he actually cared about any of them, anyways. He only cared about himself.

But maybe that was the right way of thinking.

One night, a couple months after their fifteenth birthday, their father called them to his study. They lined up by the door, dressed in their pajamas, as he surveyed them with contempt for what felt like an hour. Pogo stood in the corner, his face betraying a wave of sympathy.

“Was one of you injured on your most recent mission?” Reginald finally asked, his voice hard and abrupt.

“No,” Diego said.

“I was talking to Number One,” their father said, not sparing Diego a glance.

“No, sir,” Luther said, straightening proudly, as if he were the sole cause of this fact.

“Then why, may I ask you, did Grace find multiple doses of morphine missing from her medical bag?”

Everyone was silent.

“I will not tolerate thievery in this house,” Reginald said dangerously. “You are heroes. Heroes do not steal. There are severe consequences for stealing. Do I make myself quite clear?”

In unison, they all nodded. He stared at them, his eyes bright and evil. “Are you strong?” He asked them.

“…What?” Allison asked.

“Answer the question. All of you.”

“…Yes,” they all said, glancing at each other.

“That is a lie,” Reginald said, his voice straightforward but terrible. “One of you is weak. Which means all of you are.”

He dismissed them.

They barely made it to the staircase before Klaus burst into laughter. “Oh god, wow,” he giggled. “That was _harsh_.”

“Klaus!?” Luther exclaimed, glancing back quickly to make sure they were out of their father’s earshot. “It was _you_?”

“What?” Klaus grinned maniacally. “Gonna tattle on me?”

“Why the _hell_ did you steal mom’s morphine?” Allison whispered as they descended towards the living room.

“Are you kidding?” Klaus snorted. “Why _didn’t_ any of you? You’ve all felt it before, it’s amazing.”

“Yeah, when you’re _injured_ ,” Luther countered. “You aren’t supposed to just— like— use it for fun.”

“Surprised you know what fun is,” Diego piped in, unable to help himself.

“You’re defending him!?” Luther demanded angrily.

“No!” Diego shot back. “I’m just _saying—”_

“Look, everybody chill out,” Klaus said, waving his hand serenely, his fingernails a bright, sparkling pink. “You’re all so dramatic, letting him get to you like that. It’s really not a big deal.”

When they got into the living room, Vanya was sitting on the couch, reading over some sheet music. She looked up when they arrived. “What happened?” She asked.

“Nothing,” Diego said, annoyed.

“Just hero stuff,” Ben explained quietly, sitting down next to her, and shooting Klaus a look. Klaus, however, had headed to the bar, and didn’t seem to see it.

“Oh,” Vanya said, her voice quiet. “Right.”

~

Diego really liked being sixteen. Despite the continuing rigidity of this father’s rules, he found new ways to get out and be on his own— to take the bus across town or just walk around the neighborhood when he was feeling particularly frustrated with his siblings.

One day, Diego was out alone, when a girl ran up to him, tears pouring down her face. She was about his age, and very pretty, despite the redness of her eyes and the terror in her expression.

“You’re that— you’re in the— the Umbrella Academy— right?” She exclaimed, her voice trembling all over the place.

“Yeah,” Diego said, bewildered. “What’s— are you okay?”

“No, please, I— I need help,” she wailed. “My backpack— I was in the park and a man took my backpack— please, all my savings are in there, and my homework— and I just picked up my mom’s rent money— I know it sounds stupid but— I mean, it just happened— and I can’t find a phone—”

“I gotchu,” Diego said, without a second thought. “Which way did he go?”

The girl pointed a trembling finger down an alleyway, and Diego was off, running faster than he thought he’d ever run before. It took him seconds to see the man, tall, pale, with blonde hair, clutching a shiny purple backpack to his chest— he was at least twice Diego’s size. But that didn’t matter. He would always beat this man, just like he would always beat Luther, because who needed size and strength when he had skill?

He hurled a knife at the man’s arm, and it followed his every order, slicing through the fabric. The man yelped in surprise, dropping the backpack to the ground. Diego reached out to grab him, but he dashed onto a side street, out of sight. Breathing heavily, Diego turned towards the backpack, and picked it up, just as the girl cautiously entered the alleyway.

“Oh my god,” she cried. “You got it!”

“It was nothing,” Diego said, handing it towards her.

“No, no, it’s everything!” The girl cried. “You’re a hero! I mean, I know you know that but— you’re seriously, like, a hero! Thank you!” And before Diego could react, she kissed him excitedly on the mouth. “Thank you, thank you!”

“I-I- it was— d-don’t w-w-worry about it,” Diego stammered, blushing with happiness, barely caring that his stutter seemed to slip out. For the first time in ages, he felt nothing but pure, untainted pride— pride at something _he_ had done, all by himself. The girl beamed at him once more, and then turned, disappearing onto the street.

He told all of his siblings about it the second he got home, feeling quite satisfied with himself for being the first of them to get a kiss.

“You think you’re the first?” Klaus snorted from his bed, where he was sprawled like a sack of potatoes. “Sorry Diego, I’ve got you beat.”

“Well did you save _your_ girl from a robber, too?” Diego challenged. Klaus sighed dramatically, but lit a joint, and didn’t respond.

“You shouldn’t have done it on your own,” Luther said quietly, looking uncomfortable. “You should’ve called us.”

“It was a one man job, bro,” Diego said smugly. “I didn’t need any help.”

~

Diego liked missions. He hated training, but he liked missions— especially when they were little, because they made him feel like a god. It didn’t matter that Luther was in charge, because the second Diego took out a bad guy and saved someone’s life, his siblings by his side, they were all in it together.

But that was back when they were a well-oiled machine. The older they got, the harder it was to rely on each other, the more slip-ups they had. But it always worked out in the end. Or, most of the time.

They were seventeen now. They’d be adults in less than a year. And this was just going to be another routine mission. They’d done hundreds before. There was nothing to indicate this one would be any different.

The alarm went off early in the morning, and Hargreeves' sharp voice carried down the hall. Diego pulled on his suit, ripping the door open as he staggered out. Klaus’ bedroom door also opened, as Klaus stuck his bleary, pinched up face through the crack.

“The hell?” He complained. “It’s barely five o'clock.”

“It’s seven,” Luther said loudly, strutting down the hallway, already fully dressed. “You sober?”

“…Hungover,” Klaus replied, squinting at him.

“Then you’re coming,” Luther continued, throwing him his mask. “Diego, you too, let’s go.”

“I’m ready,” Diego snarled. “If anyone needs to hurry up it’s probably Allison, she needs time to get all pretty or whatever—”

“I’m always pretty,” Allison interrupted, hurrying over to join them. “Where’s Ben?”

“I’ll get him,” Klaus volunteered lazily.

“You aren’t even dressed, _I’ll_ get him,” Diego sighed, and jogged down the hall, reaching the staircase and climbing the stairs two at a time. “Ben!” He yelled, once he’d reached the third floor. “C’mon dude, get up.”

“I’m up,” Ben replied, emerging from his room, slipping his mask onto his face. He looked almost as awful as Klaus did. “I’m up.”

“Did you even sleep?” Diego asked him. Ben shrugged.

“A little,” he said. There wasn’t really time to get into it, so Diego settled on clapping him on the shoulder, before they bounded down the stairs together.

They arrived at the department store in record time. Several levels tall, this particular store sold the peak of expensive bullshit: glass cases full of diamond jewelry, shoes that cost more than houses. It was a lot of space to cover, Diego realized as they barreled towards the doors, not to mention dozens of hostages and who knew how many enemies, but they’d dealt with worse.

“Okay,” Luther said authoritatively. “Usual plan. Diego, you go in the front and take out anyone guarding the doors, I’ll come in through the ceiling and take out everyone on the top floor. Allison, you’ll come in with Diego, and rumor everyone who you can get close enough to. Klaus, you’re on hostage duty—”

“—Ah, splendid!—”

“—Make sure you get everyone out before Ben comes in, we don’t want them getting swept up in it all—”

“Yeah, yeah, you go get the bad guys,” Klaus said airily. “I’ll take care of the terrified, very _rich_ victims… wonder if they’ll feel grateful enough to write me a check or two…”

“Everyone got it?” Luther said firmly, ignoring him. Diego reluctantly grunted in affirmation as Allison and Klaus nodded. Ben paused for a moment— they all looked at him, and finally he sighed, and slowly nodded as well. Luther smiled confidently at them, and then made a running jump towards a pipe on the side of the building. Diego grabbed a knife in each hand and made for the front doors, Allison, Klaus, and Ben running behind him. Diego crashed through the glass, knives out and ready to throw at all of the robbers rushing towards them—

Only, there were no robbers.

At least, none watching the door. Diego looked wildly around, confused, every muscle tensed, but no one came at them.

“Sure we got the right address?” Klaus drawled.

“Shut up,” Diego barked. The first floor was eerie— all of the lights were on, but it was almost deserted—

And then a yell from upstairs, followed by the sound of gunfire. Diego knew that yell anywhere— a hole was blasted through the ceiling as Luther fell through, nearly landing on top of them.

“What the hell?” Allison screamed, as Luther leapt from the pile of rubble. “Where are they?”

“They’re— I think they knew we were coming—” Luther panted. “C’mon— Klaus the hostages aren’t all together, I think there are some on the second floor but— the third floor too— Ben, I need help—”

Klaus ran chaotically towards the escalator as Ben followed close behind, dodging chunks of ceiling and gunfire. That’s when Allison screamed: Diego was barely able to duck as she sent a kick flying over his head, her foot making contact with a masked figure who had darted from the shadows, his gun pointed directly at Diego’s back. The bullet fired as he fell, reichocheting off the wall and smashing into a large glass case of perfume, which exploded in a suffocating cloud of scent.

“I heard a rumor you told me where your friends are hiding!” Allison coughed, her foot on the man’s windpipe.

“They’re right behind you,” he sputtered wickedly, and Diego looked up just in time to see six figures sprinting at them. His hands worked on their own accord: three of them hit the ground with knives protruding from their chests, and as Allison screamed rumors, the other three shot themselves in the legs, falling to the ground.

All of a sudden, they were plunged into darkness.

“Allison?” Diego called out, as another case exploded from the gunfire above. “Aw hell, where are you?”

“I’m right here,” she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the escalator. “C’mon, we gotta go!”

They could barely see as they tripped their way up the stairs, but once they emerged onto the second floor, they hit the ground to avoid the hail of gunfire sent their way— these guys were good, almost like coordinated teams— and then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a kid, a fucking kid, crawling out from behind a chunk of wall—

“Allison!” He called desperately. “Where the hell is Klaus?”

“Didn’t he go upstairs?” Allison shouted back. Diego threw a knife and struck through two guys at once. “I’m not close enough to rumor them— Diego, I need to get closer!”

“I’m trying!” Diego yelled, a bit annoyed, and he threw another knife, impaling one guy in the head. Allison took the momentary pause to sprint forward, yelling rumors in their ears, ducking around them. There was a crash from upstairs, and the kid near them started crying, crawling dangerously close to the hole in the ground. Allison looked back, and then—

“I heard a rumor you saved that toddler!” She yelped, and the man about to shoot her rushed to the kid, scooping him away from certain death. Diego jumped up and took out the last of them, when suddenly Klaus was there, running at him, a baby in one arm, dragging a trembling, bloody man with his other.

“Hey guys!” Klaus yelled, grinning manically. “How we doin’?”

“Freakin’ great!” Diego shouted back sarcastically. “This all you got?”

“They’re all fucked up,” Klaus said, running past him, a few shoppers straggling behind him in terror. “Some of them are locked in the dressing room, I dunno— a little help would be nice—”

“I’m not a babysitter,” Diego said, ducking as a piece of ceiling collapsed above him, and Klaus rolled his eyes and tugged the throng around him across the floor. Something thrust through the ceiling above them— and suddenly a gaping hole was there, too, just like the floor below it, as if someone had punched through the middle of the entire building, a donut hole. Diego squinted upstairs: Luther was fighting a group of at least ten guys, while Ben was standing in front of the dressing rooms, guarding what looked like to be multiple terrified, bleeding shoppers— he couldn’t unleash the tentacles within when he was that close to them— he turned to Allison, but she was fighting two guys at once, hand to hand combat, opening her mouth to rumor them at every chance they got— but they had seemed to catch on, and were aiming towards her face, and throat, keeping her from speaking as she was forced to focus on blocking their punches and kicks—

Suddenly a bullet whizzed by Diego’s face— he turned, swearing, and impaled the shooter to the wall. There were too many of them— who the hell were these guys!? He looked up again, for a split second— Luther was beating the guys around him, and Ben took the opportunity to grab the remaining hostages, and drag them towards the escalator— and in a bout of perfect timing, Klaus was back, running to retrieve them, pulling them as he ducked gunfire, moving as fast as he could to get to the lower level again— but shit, there was still a civilian up there, a woman, clearly too injured for Klaus to have moved, and one of the guys grabbed her like a human shield as he ran from Luther, who sprinted after them as she screamed—

And more guys emerged from the shadows on Diego’s floor, as Diego whirled, threw, stabbed— he looked up, Ben’s tentacles were out now, throwing people back and forth—

“Someone, cover Ben!” Luther shouted, for he was unable to, wrestling to pull the woman from the masked man’s grasp— the woman cried out in pain, Luther was too strong— he was pulling her too hard—

Diego turned desperately— Ben’s tentacles were out and he was exposed, ripping people back and forth, and someone ran at him from behind, shotgun out. Diego shot a knife straight upwards, stopping the person in her tracks— she dropped the gun and cried out, falling to the ground. Diego rushed upwards, but suddenly, three guys were by his side— he was forced to face them, there was nothing he could do— there were too many of them, they were everywhere— but as his blade brought the last of them to their knees, he heard a terrible scream, a sound so awful he could not believe Ben had made it.

Allison flipped a guy to the ground and turned as Diego did. Ben’s tentacles were going haywire, out of control, not even targeting the enemy anymore, just slashing back and forth shuddering against Ben himself— and blood was flying everywhere, but whose blood could it be if there were no villains in its grasp, it didn’t make sense, and Ben was screaming so much louder than he normally did, as he stumbled backwards under the thrashing weight of his tentacles, closer and closer to the hole in the floor—

And then, as if in slow motion, he fell.

It was straight down. From the ceiling above through the floor below, down through the multi-story hole of the department store, blood flying as he went, tentacles retreating with every foot he fell, so that he was just a boy when he hit the ground below, with a sickening thump.

“ _BEN_?” Allison screamed.

“BEN!” Diego echoed, and then he was sprinting downstairs, nearly falling over in his haste, towards the pile on the floor, his brother, lying eagle-spread on the ground, the top of his uniform torn open in slashed pieces, the blood, too much blood, _way_ too much blood—

Allison reached him first, collapsing to her knees at his side. Diego was there not a second later, and he reached out and grabbed a hold of Ben’s face, his still, unmoving face… and the building was eerily silent again except for the straining of electricity and broken pipes, and Diego didn’t know when the gunfire had stopped, when they had defeated everyone, when had they won?

“Ben, c’mon buddy, open your eyes,” Diego commanded, his voice ringing with panic in his own ears. “C’mon, Ben— Ben—”

And then, suddenly, Luther and Klaus were there. Luther looked as though he had been hit by a bus; Klaus was white as a sheet.

“What happened!?” Luther demanded, panic on every inch of his face. "What _happened_?”

“I don’t know!” Diego nearly screamed. “I don’t know, he was fighting but then— something— the monster— and then he fell— I don’t know, there were too many of them, I didn’t see!”

“We have— we have to— call dad—” Luther was breathing labored breaths, his eyes huge as he stared down at Ben’s mangled form. “He’ll know— he’ll know what to do—”

“Are you kidding me?” Diego said in a strangled voice, his hands shaking around Ben’s face. “Mom, we need _mom_ , he needs— s-surgery or—”

“You’re both insane!” Klaus screeched, looking crazed. “Mom can’t help him, look at him! He looks— he looks like a— he’s— I—” but he couldn’t finish the sentence before turning away, and vomiting all over the floor.

“Like he’s _what_ , Klaus?” Allison said, her voice several octaves higher than usual. “What?”

Klaus retched again. Allison turned back to Diego instead, her eyes huge. “Can you feel his pulse?” She said, her voice shaking dangerously. “Diego, can you?”

Diego moved his fingers down to the side of his neck.

“There’s nothing there,” he said, his throat closing. “I don’t— I don’t feel anything—”

“You’re probably doing it wrong,” Allison said desperately, and shoved his hands aside, grabbing onto Ben’s neck. She sat there, entirely still for a moment, and then her face seemed to sag in on itself.

“CPR,” Luther said suddenly. “We gotta— CPR—” And that’s when the doors burst opened, and Reginald Hargreeves strode into the building, the look on his face far more terrible than anything Diego had ever seen.

“Get out,” he commanded.

“Dad,” Luther said, shooting up to his feet.

“Get out, all of you,” Reginald repeated, his eyes flashing. “Report to the Academy at once. Do not stop anywhere along your way. Do not speak to anyone. Get. Out.” Grace hurried in around him, toting a stretcher: she collapsed it and slid Ben onto its surface.

Luther shot Ben’s body one final look, and then pulled Allison to standing and rushed with her to the door. Diego heaved Klaus from the ground, nearly slipping in the puddle of blood, and half-dragged him out of the building, where a crowd of reporters had already formed, cameras flashing, people yelling—

Diego sprinted through the throng, pulling Klaus with him, not slowing until he caught up with Allison and Luther, and all of them ran together, ran and ran until they were falling into the front doors of the Umbrella Academy, panting, drenched in sweat, drenched in Ben’s blood.

“We should have started CPR right away,” Luther gasped.

“You can’t do CPR on a corpse,” Klaus said bitterly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Klaus,” Allison begged. “Don’t—”

“Guys?”

The familiar, timid voice cut through the scene like a knife, and they all turned as one to see Vanya, standing in the entrance hall, staring at them. Her violin was clutched in one hand, and her eyes were huge and confused. “Is everything… um, okay?”

Everyone turned to Luther. He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. The silence was thick and pressured, pounding on Diego’s head like a hammer.

“…Where’s Ben?” Vanya asked, her voice very small.

Diego let go of Klaus’s arm, and left the room.

~

Ben Hargreeves was declared dead by their father at 8:04am, the moment he returned home. The funeral would be held the following morning, to give time for Pogo to purchase a casket, and for Grace to prepare the body. Reginald spent the entire day in his office, writing. He did not exchange a single word with any of them after the announcement of death, and his door remained closed.

But that was fine with Diego, who never wanted to look into the cold, evil, unforgiving eyes of his father ever again. He spent the day out in the courtyard, hurling knives through the light snow, allowing the sharp tips to burrow deep into the bark of the trees, replaying the moment of Ben’s death over and over again in his head. What could they have done differently, the moves he could have made— what if there had been less hostages, what if they had gotten there sooner? Whose fault was it? Who was the member of the team that had been reckless enough, or overly self-confident enough, or overly careless enough, to let Ben die? Diego hated and resented every single one of his siblings, but not Ben. Ben was the good one. How had he been the one to die?

The sun set, but he stayed outside well past dinner time. He didn’t know if his family sat down for dinner, nor did he care. It wasn’t a family without Ben. So, he waited out there, his fingers growing colder until they were rigid with frost, and he could no longer grip the smooth metal of the knives.

He entered the house, which was eerily silent. A sudden lump formed in his throat, and his stomach shriveled inside of him. Swallowing furiously, he made a beeline for his mother’s medical chambers, His legs shaking as they thawed out, and snow melted from his hair, dripping down the side of his numb, unmoving face.

His hand was on the door by the time he realized that someone else was already in there. Allison, standing next to—

Standing next to Ben.

Or, rather— Ben’s body.

She was hunched over it, tears pouring down her face, dripping and landing on the corpse of her brother, as she whispered, over and over, and over:

“I heard a rumor you didn’t die. I heard— I heard a rumor you didn’t die. I heard a rumor you— please, please— I heard a rumor you… woke up.” She let out a horrible, hoarse sob. “I heard a rumor you started breathing again. I heard a rumor your wounds healed. I… I heard a rumor your heart was still beating. I heard a rumor… I heard… I heard a… I… c’mon, please… _please_ …”

Diego turned away, hating her, hating everyone who was alive and who had ever lived. He ran up the stairs, ran and ran until he reached his mother, sitting by her wall of portraits, plugged into the couch, charging her batteries or whatever was inside her, whatever powered her to love Diego like he was her own child, and Diego wanted to wake her up, but he couldn’t, he didn’t know how, and he didn’t have the energy, or the words. So instead, he collapsed by her side, his head in her lap, just like he did when he was a child, and he buried his face in the skirt of her dress, and cried, and cried, and cried. He cried until his eyes were puffy and his throat was raw, and only then did he fall asleep.

~

Ben’s funeral came and went.

Blame came from every angle, but it was their father’s words that pierced him the most.

_“Despite years of training and weeks of preparation, you allowed Number Six to die on this mission. Excuses? I will not hear them. The Umbrella Academy has failed one of their own.”_

Diego couldn’t take it.

He had spent his entire life trying to prove himself to his father. He pushed himself to the brink every second of every day. His entire life had been devoted to this stupid group, this stupid team of siblings who weren’t siblings, who weren’t even friends, and could never be a real family. Their father wasn’t a father, not really. He didn’t care for them, he hated them. Despite everything they’d all been through, their father hated them.

And Diego hated him back.

Diego hated him with every fiber of his being. He hated his cold, evil gaze, his unwavering harsh voice. He hated him, because in another world, maybe they could have been a family. Maybe he and his siblings could have been close. But they weren’t. Ben was dead, and with his death, the last string holding them all together had been ripped apart. Diego didn’t want to be a part of a team anymore. He didn’t want to feel jealous of Luther, or anger towards Allison, or frustration with Klaus. He didn’t want to watch Vanya skulking around feeling sorry for herself when she hadn’t been through the horrific trauma they had been through. He couldn’t be in this house, a monument, a trophy to their father, just like them. He did not want to be a part of a team ever again. All he wanted to do was be alone.

He could look out for himself. There’d be no one else to have to cover. There’d be no one to get in his way, and no one to slip through his grasp.

Not again.

And that is how, a week after his brother’s death, he found himself standing in the doorway of Reginald Hargreeves’ office. His father’s nose was buried in his journal, and Diego found himself clearing his throat, hating that the noise sounded like a strangled choking as it left his body.

“Number Two,” Reginald said coldly, not looking up from his writing. “Leave at once.”

“I— I am leaving, actually,” Diego said, trembling, his mouth feeling like sandpaper.

“And yet, here you stand,” Reginald replied, his voice slicing through the air with palpable hatred.

Diego felt his heart seize with anger. He clenched his jaw, and tried to compose himself. He wanted to be just as cold and evil when he answered, “No. I’m leaving the Academy. For good.”

There was a long, long pause. The very air seemed to hold its breath. And then, incredibly, Reginald stopped writing, and lifted his head. His eyes seemed to bore through Diego’s skull.

“Are you?” Reginald asked, his voice not betraying a single emotion.

“Yes,” Diego said, tasting metal. “I am.”

“Fascinating,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “And where are you planning on going?”

“Anywhere but here,” Diego said, his voice suddenly loud. Reginald was sitting, and suddenly, he didn’t seem so intimidating. He was just a man, after all. A sad, empty, evil old man.

“I see,” Reginald said curtly, putting his pen down. “So not only did you allow your brother to die, but now, you are running away? If you really cared about your brother, you would stay and fight the battles he no longer can. Anything else is an act of cowardice.”

A week ago, that sentence would have broken him beyond repair. Words like that from his father would have driven him to the point of silent, scalding tears. But everything was different now. So, miraculously, amazingly, Diego stood his ground. Seventeen years of pain, of anger, of trauma, swirled within him, fueling him, giving him the power to hold his father’s gaze, and finally speak his mind.

“You’re a bastard,” Diego spat, his heart beating relentlessly against his chest, strong and powerful. “Ben hated fighting, he only did it because you forced him to.”

“He did it because it was his purpose,” Reginald countered.

“No,” Diego growled. “He did it because _you_ made him think he had to. And now he’s dead. And that’s not on us. That’s on you. And I’m done with you, I’m done with all this.”

“I gave everything to you,” Reginald said, his eyes empty and cruel.

“You _took_ everything from me,” Diego spat. “And I’m over it, I’m over all of it. You can’t control me anymore.” He white-knuckled the knife strapped around his waist. “I’m stronger than you.”

“And once again, you are incorrect,” Reginald said, eyes flashing. “For you are clearly displaying something that I have known all along, that you are the weakest of all of them.”

“You’re the weak one,” Diego countered, and his eyes burned, and his voice cracked, but he had made up his mind. “You don’t save lives. I do. And I don’t need your help to do it.” And before Reginald could say one more word, he turned on his heel, and slammed the door so hard the wall shook.

~

His body shook with a level of energy he had never quite felt before as he ripped clothes from his dresser into a large open suitcase, and pulled down posters with a savage sense of euphoria. The sooner he left, the better— word must have traveled, what with Allison always eavesdropping by their fathers study, and Diego didn’t trust himself not to deck Luther across the face if he came in to give one of his infuriatingly condescending speeches. But maybe Luther was glad he was leaving— more attention for him, the golden child, looking better and better by comparison.

He opened his closet to the row of perfectly ironed uniforms, and shut it again to turn to his bed. He knelt to the floor and slid a large, black case out from underneath, opening it with reverence and care, revealing the meticulously organized rows of sharp, sparkling knives. These would be coming with him— he no longer needed Reginald’s oppressive training schedule or constant stream of ridicule. He was a superhero.

“So you’re really doin’ it, huh?” A voice came from behind him. Diego turned to see Klaus leaning lazily against the door frame, wearing pajama pants and what looked like one of their mother’s cardigans. “Leaving?”

“Yep,” Diego grunted, slamming on of his knife case closed a bit harder than he intended. Klaus flounced his way into the room, and picked up a small leather knife case from the dresser top, examining it with interest.

“You packing everything?” He asked mildly. “Because if you want to leave anything behind, I’d be more than happy to—”

“—Give me that,” Diego snapped, grabbing the knife case from Klaus’ hands, and shoving it into his still-open suitcase. “You still _owe_ me money.”

“Do not,” Klaus retorted, and then he paused, and turned towards the empty doorway and whined, “Oh, be quiet.”

Diego rolled his eyes. So much had changed in the last week, but Klaus remained consistent— clearly, he was high as a kite, talking to nothing.

“Anyways,” Klaus said, turning back. “Where are you even _going_?”

“I don’t care,” Diego seethed, zipping his suitcase closed. “Anywhere but here.”

“Well, that’s dramatic,” Klaus said lightly, slumping down on Diego’s bed. Diego felt a wave up frustration build inside him.

“Klaus, can you just fuck off back to your room?” He demanded, pulling his coat out from underneath his brother.

“Speaking of rooms,” Klaus exclaimed, “I saw Vanya looking at _colleges_ the other day. Little Vanny, off to college, can you believe!? So, I’m thinking I’ll knock down her wall when she goes, expand my bedroom, I’m a growing boy, I need the space…”

“Vanya’s leaving too?” Diego asked, looking up, weirdly surprised.

Klaus nodded. “Gonna be honest, Diego, you did a good job stickin’ it to the man and all, but I personally can’t wait for _her_ rousing little speech to daddy dearest,” he grinned, and pulled a lighter from his pocket. Diego reached up and knocked it out of his hand, careening it’s trajectory into the trash.

“Hey!” Klaus yelped.

“And what’s _your_ plan?” Diego demanded. “Stay here and get high? You think dad’s gonna keep letting it slide?”

Klaus shrugged again. “He doesn’t give a shit about me.” And he leaned over to retrieve the lighter from the otherwise-empty garbage bin, clicking it against his thumb to create a tiny flame.

“He doesn’t give a shit about any of us,” Diego muttered, slinging a backpack around his shoulder. “He never did.”

“Boo hoo hoo,” Klaus sighed, and lit a joint. “Can I have your room, too? I could use another closet.”

“No,” Diego said, and as he pulled the framed needlepoint from his wall, that his mother had so lovingly made for him what felt like a hundred years ago, he realized he was done packing. Seventeen years, and everything that _actually_ mattered to him fit into two suitcases and a backpack. He felt his stomach clench— the room was still quite full. He looked at Klaus, who took a long drag from the joint— they sort of stared at each other for a moment, and Diego felt his throat constrict just a bit. “Well, I’m out,” he said.

“Okay,” Klaus sighed. He blinked. “Wow. Well, I… um…” he stood up, and gave him a strange sort of half-hug. “Good luck, then, or whatever.”

“I don’t need luck,” Diego informed him, letting go.

“…Okay,” Klaus shrugged again, and dropped back down to the bed. As Diego left the room, he could have sworn he heard his brother say Ben’s name.

He did not see his father again as he left. His only real detour was to the kitchen, where his mother was cleaning the counter as she hummed an indiscernible tune. When he hugged her, he finally let a tear roll down his cheek.

“Diego,” she said warmly. “You’re wearing your coat, are you going outside?”

“Yeah,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve shakily. “I’m leaving.”

“For how long?” Grace asked, cupping his face tenderly.

Diego swallowed. “A long time, mom.”

Grace beamed. “Well,” she said lovingly, “I’ll have a warm cup of cocoa ready when you get back.”

“I’m too old for cocoa,” Diego whispered.

“Nonsense,” she chirped, and reached into her apron and handed him his domino mask. “It’s cold out there.”

~

The months passed, and his father never came for him. No one forced him to wake up at early hours or eat certain foods or get dressed in a certain way. Diego got his license, a job, a tiny apartment. He had never felt so good, so fucking _free_ , so completely himself. But there were moments— of course, there were moments— when he’d catch a snippet of news, or overhear people gossiping at a bar, when his mind would stray back to the Academy.

Vanya was the next to leave, apparently, about a year after he did, at age eighteen— she went off to college after all. Klaus’ mugshot popped up in the tabloids not soon after: arrested for driving Reginald’s car into a tree, charged with a DUI and a mandatory stay at rehab. From what Diego understood, Klaus stayed at the Umbrella Academy off and on throughout that year, hardly ever attending missions, but once Allison landed a role in some big Hollywood movie, he too left when she crossed the country to California. Diego saw Luther’s name in the papers over and over again, with stupid, flashy headlines: “And Then There Was One,” “One Academy Member Continues to Fight for Our Safety.” And for a while, the coverage of the siblings continued. “What Ever Happened to the Umbrella Academy?” was a popular question. Allison’s TV shows and movies got more popular. Diego refused to watch any of them. Once in a while, he’d check the obituaries to see if Klaus had died, but then again, he didn’t know who’d even write an obituary for him. Sometimes, he’d yearn to sneak back into the Academy, just to catch a glimpse of his mom, to make sure she was alright. But he couldn’t risk running into Luther.

The years went on. Vanya wrote a book, and Diego threw it into the river. Klaus called and asked for money, and Diego refused. Luther went to the moon. Allison got married, had a daughter, and got divorced.

Diego was a hero on his own terms— The Academy was his past, and he was fully prepared to keep it there.

Or at least until March 21st, 2019, when every news station reported the exact same story: that respected billionaire, teacher, inventor, scientist, and of course, _father_ , Reginald Hargreeves, had died.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! :') comments are always appreciated ❤️


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